


Extraordinary

by CaffeinatedBookFairy



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:47:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22084387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaffeinatedBookFairy/pseuds/CaffeinatedBookFairy
Summary: The first time he saw her, when he climbed out of her toilet and into her father’s home, he barely even registered her presence – he was too preoccupied with his mission and his brother’s injury, so he wrote her off simply as a perfectly ordinary human girl. But then he started observing her – and Mahal, she was the most extraordinary creature he had ever laid eyes upon.
Relationships: Fíli (Tolkien)/Sigrid (Hobbit Movies), Kíli (Tolkien)/Tauriel (Hobbit Movies)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 148





	Extraordinary

**Author's Note:**

> AU, because I love Fíli and Kíli and absolutely hated the way BoFA ended.

The first time he saw her, when he climbed out of her toilet and into her father’s home, he barely even registered her presence. He vaguely heard her asking Bard exactly why there were dwarves coming out of the toilet as he helped Kíli out of the water, but he barely spared her a glance as he walked into the main room. She was just a human girl, barely more than a child – nothing he should concern himself with, not now, when his brother was wounded and needed him. He did hear her name when Bard introduced her, though – Sigrid. It was a powerful name, he thought, not suited for that wisp of a girl that stood by Bard, eyeing the company of dwarves with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

***

Kíli had gotten worse. Not being able to help was driving Fíli mad; he had not slept in two days, constantly tending to his brother, trying to give him strength, even though he felt close to collapsing himself. 

The night was at its darkest, and Oin and Bofur had long since gone to sleep, too tired to go on; he had been sitting by Kíli’s side alone for hours now – and that was why the gentle touch of a hand on his shoulder startled him so much he almost cried out. A burst of adrenaline coursed through his weak, sleep-deprived body as he turned around, instinctively ready to fight, but there was no enemy in front of him – only Bard’s eldest daughter, Sigrid. She was looking at him in concern, a thick woollen shawl wrapped around her shoulders to try and keep the night chill from seeping through her nightgown. 

“You should have some sleep,” she murmured, gently, yet with a hint of reproach, her gaze unwavering. “You look like you are about to collapse from exhaustion.”

Her eyes, he noticed almost absently, were of the most startlingly intense shade of blue he had ever seen, like the sapphires he had once used to make a pair of earrings for his mother’s birthday, back when he was just Fíli, a young smith working in the forges of Ered Luin, and not Prince Fíli, heir of Durin, future King Under the Mountain, warrior on a quest to reclaim his ancestral home. He realised then that it was the first time he had actually looked at her since he first set foot in Bard’s house several days before. In the flickering light of the single candle by his brother’s bedside she looked like one of Ori’s charcoal drawings, her skin pale and her contours hazy, tendrils of hair escaping her braid and framing her face in a halo that shimmered with shades of gold and copper in the pale, shifting glow of the flame. There was something in her eyes – something that made it impossible for him to look away, as though she had ensnared him in a spell. 

It took him all of his willpower to break away from her gaze.

“He needs me,” he replied simply, looking down on his brother’s ashen face as he slept fitfully, his eyes moving frantically beneath his closed lids. “He needs me and I – I just – ” Words failed him as he buried his face in his hands, feeling helpless and angry and frustrated and doing all he could not to burst into tears like a frightened child. 

“I know how you feel, but there is nothing you can do, not right now, except being strong for him. But if you stop sleeping and eating, you will soon fall ill too, and then what use will you be to your brother?” 

Mahal, she was right – he knew she was right, but he couldn’t help it. Kíli was his younger brother – his responsibility – and sleeping, even if he was drained, felt like letting him down.

His head still in his hands, he listened as Sigrid padded softly across the room, heard the clatter of pans, the noise of something being put down on the wooden table. A minute later she was back, and he looked up as she thrust a bowl of soup and a piece of bread into his hands.

“Eat,” she commanded, and after a moment he obeyed, for with her face set in that determined, stern expression and her hands on her hips she reminded him remarkably of his mother – and he had endured enough yells, slaps and wrung ears from Thorin’s formidable sister to know never to cross a woman looking like that. He found that he was starving, so he tucked in, aware that Sigrid was still watching him like a hawk. When he was done, she took his bowl and set it on the floor under his chair, to clean up the following morning.

“Valar, I never thought I would be scolding a fully grown dwarven prince like I used to scold Bain and Tilda when they were small,” she muttered, almost to herself, as she plopped down on the empty stool by Fíli’s side – the one that had been vacated by Bofur several hours before. “If you don’t want to sleep, master dwarf, at least rest for a little while. I’ll watch over him.”

“It’s Fíli,” he told her softly, giving her a small smile. “Just Fíli.”

“Alright then, Fíli,” she said, stressing the use of his first name, “Have some rest, I’ll take over for a while. I don’t mind.”

“Why?” he asked then, unable to help it. “Why are you doing this, Sigrid – trying to help me?”

“I know how horrible it feels, seeing your siblings weak and ill and not being able to help them,” she murmured, drawing her shawl tightly around herself almost like it were a blanket. “And…” She seemed to hesitate as she bit her lip, looking sad and worried all of a sudden. “And…if the dragon is awakened, we might all die tomorrow. I don’t want to die knowing that one of the last things I did was making the last hours of someone else’s life miserable when I could have helped so easily.” 

She sounded so much older than her years, Fíli thought, and so infinitely sad. For a moment all he wanted was to comfort her – to hold her and stroke her hair and tell her that everything would be alright – but he pushed that sudden instinct back with all he had, burying it deep inside him.

Mahal, what was she doing to him?

***

They were standing on the pebbly shore as they watched Laketown burn, the flames so tall and bright the sky above the lake was painted red like a sunset. Survivors kept coming out of the water, some on boats, most simply swimming, many of them injured. Fíli was standing in the shallows, the freezing water soaking him up to his thighs, helping the women, children and those who were too weak to stand on their own to get back on solid ground. 

He kept looking back at Kíli to check on him, still marvelled at how he had suddenly come back from the brink of death. Though still pale and weak, he was standing with the help of a makeshift stick made from a sturdy branch of driftwood, coordinating the men to gather wood and start fires, while the red-haired elf – Tauriel, was that her name? – stood near him, leading the women in taking care of the many wounded.

A few yards behind him, Sigrid stood right at the water’s edge. She was holding her sobbing little sister tightly, her own face streaked with tears as she asked everyone that would listen if they had seen her father or brother. 

“The dragon! Look!” someone screamed, and Fíli’s eyes flew to the sky, expecting to see Smaug coming towards them to slaughter the survivors. Instead he saw the monster’s huge form twist and convulse, black against the red sky, before it fell, crashing in the middle of the burning town.

It didn’t get back up.

“It’s dead! Smaug is dead!”

Maybe fifteen minutes later, an old man came ashore with a small boat, carrying several children with him. “I saw him!” he cried as Fíli helped him get the little ones off the boat. “I saw Bard kill the dragon – with a black arrow!”

“What happened to him after? Did you see him? Is he alive?” Sigrid asked, breathless, as she rushed to the old man, her eyes wide and hopeful. But he shook his head, his face grave.

“I’m sorry, lass, I – I didn’t. He – I saw ’im fall when the tower he was standin’ on was destroyed by the dragon, but that’s all I saw.”

Fíli saw her face fall, saw the silent tears that escaped her eyes as she blinked, even though she quickly wiped them away, giving the old man a nod. He watched, feeling oddly worried, as she walked off and went to sit by the water, away from the crowds surrounding the bright, warm campfires that had finally been started. He helped the old man off the boat and quickly headed after her, only to check if she needed anything, be it just some silent company. He owed it to her, after she spent the previous night helping him take care of his brother.

She looked unbelievably small sitting there on her own, her arms wrapped around her knees, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. When he sat next to her she didn’t even turn her head to look at him, her eyes fixed on the burning remains of what used to be her town.

“I keep telling myself that they will turn up,” she whispered after several minutes, without looking at him. “My Da and Bain. But I’m so scared, Fíli. I’m so scared that they will not come back.”

He knew that it was unlikely to see Bard ever again – not alive, if what that old man had said was true. But he would poke his own eyes out before he told that to the desperate girl next to him. What she needed now was hope, and Mahal, he was going to try and give it to her.

“Your father’s a strong man, lass – it’ll take more than a dragon to keep him away from you and your sister. Don’t lose hope – the night’s far from over yet,” he told her as confidently as he could, gingerly placing a hand on her shoulder – he had never had to comfort a crying woman before, and he honestly had no idea what to do.

“Will you wait with me?”

She asked that question so softly for a moment he thought he had imagined it, but as he looked down and found her pleading, red-rimmed eyes boring into his, he found himself caught in the same spell that had enchanted him the previous night, when he couldn’t bring himself to look away from her.

“Aye, I will,” he replied without hesitation, surprising himself, and as she rested her head on his shoulder he instinctively put his arm around her, holding her close.

And together, they waited.

Seeing the joy in her eyes when, the following morning, she found her brother and father alive and well made his heart swell in a way that was completely unfamiliar to him. And as he watched her hug her family to her, laughing and crying at the same time, he thought for a fleeting moment that he had never seen a more beautiful creature before.

***

The battle was raging around him, elves, dwarves and orcs clashing together, the clang of weapons and battle cries meddling together in a deafening cacophony. He sank one of his swords in the chest of an orc to the hilt, then spun around and jumped on another, severing its head almost clean off. He had lost count of how many of the foul creatures he had already brought down; it seemed as though no swords or spears could touch him as he fought his way through the enemy ranks, mowing orcs down as he swung his twin blades, determination burning bright in his chest. They were winning, the filthy rukhas retreating under the fierce attack of his kin, and the thought gave him a savage courage that even the monsters seemed to fear.

“Fíli!”

An arrow whizzed barely a hair’s breadth from his left ear, deeply wedging itself between the eyes of an orc, and a moment later Kíli was by his side, his bow in hand, a wild look in his eyes.

“They’ve sent a contingent of orcs up to the town!” his brother said urgently. “All the human women and children are up there, with only a few guards to defend them! And Tauriel’s up there too! Bard’s leading all the men who can still fight, and some of ours are going too - we need to go, now!”

Sigrid! No!

He sprinted towards the town without a word, Kíli hot on his heels.

By the time they got there, the ruins of Dale were already swarming with orcs, and the bodies of several fallen elven guards lay near the entrance gates, broken and still. A string of Khuzdul expletives flew from Kíli’s lips at the sight, and Fíli felt a shudder ran down his spine. Were they too late already?

“This way! They’re inside the citadel!” Bard called, and they ran after him, ready to fight. Up and down sloping streets, narrow passages and flights of stairs they went, chasing the beasts away, trying to defend the dozens of innocents who tried to save themselves and their families. 

It was then that he saw her, trapped, standing in an alcove between an orc and her sister, holding a sword that she must had taken from one of the fallen warriors. Her face was set in a hard, fierce look of determination, and he knew that she would die before she let the creature get to little Tilda behind her.

He moved instinctively, his training taking over as he pulled a long knife from his belt and threw it, the blade finding its target in the back of the orc’s skull. The creature crumpled to the ground, and Fíli couldn’t help the smile that crossed his lips as Sigrid’s eyes, full of relief, met his.

All it took was a second. He saw the look of panic suddenly crossing her face, and he turned around sharply, but not fast enough. 

The orc’s sword slashed across his torso, ripping his chainmail and leaving a trail of white-hot pain in its wake. He fell to his knees, the world suddenly hazy in front of his eyes, his vision muddled by the pain and the blood gushing from the slash in his chest. Through muffled ears, he heard someone scream his name – Sigrid, he realised. He tried to force himself to get up and fight, to protect her, but it was as though his body did not obey him anymore. He could see the orc standing in front of him, his arm raised and ready to deliver him the fatal blow. 

“No!”

He blinked, and suddenly the creature in front of him screeched savagely, its body twisting and convulsing as the tip of a sword burst out of its chest with surprising force. As the creature fell, he saw her, the sword blackened with orc’s blood still held in her shaking hands. She must have charged the orc from behind, he realised, with such force that the sword had pierced right through the creature’s body.

Then she was kneeling by his side, tears rolling down her cheeks as she begged him not to go, and Mahal, he wanted to stay with her more than he had ever wanted anything, but he could feel himself slipping away along with the blood that kept pouring out of the deep wound in his chest.

I’m so sorry, he wanted to say. I’m so sorry you’re crying because of me. I’m so sorry I can’t stay. I wish I could. I wish…, but his lips didn’t belong to him anymore.

The last thing he heard before the blackness claimed him and pulled him under was her voice calling his name.

***

Everything around him was bright – so bright it hurt his eyes – and he felt like his whole body was on fire, the incandescent pain so intense he could not even scream. There were voices all around him – hushed whispers that he could not make out the meaning of, although the sounds were familiar to him. They were always there when he emerged from the blackness, but so was the pain, and although he wished he could stay longer and listen to the voices to finally understand them, he wished to escape the pain more, and kept burrowing back into the welcome darkness of unconsciousness, regretful and relieved at the same time.

He felt hot – too hot. His skin was burning, his whole body – he could feel it, even though he could not move – hot as a furnace, a searing pain shooting across his chest every time he breathed. Behind his closed lids, he could see flashes – chasing a group of orcs running around Dale, the touch of a small, cool hand on his cheek, throwing a knife, a sweet, gentle voice calling his name and whispering to him softly, a fair-haired girl holding a bloody sword. Memory and reality muddled together in his semi-conscious brain, and it took him a while to realise that there actually was someone there with him, someone who was caressing his face with the gentlest of touches, all the while murmuring to him, begging him not to leave.

He knew that voice, he was sure – he had heard it before, if only in a dream. And he desperately wanted to see who the voice belonged to, because he felt that if he did, everything would be alright.

It took him time to find his eyelids, and when he did, they felt as heavy as lead. It took a great effort to force them open even just a tiny fraction, and an even greater one to keep them open and attempt to focus on his blurry surroundings.

At first he thought she must be an angel, for never in all of Middle Earth had a creature so beautiful walked the land. Bathed in flickering candlelight, her skin was as pale as alabaster, her hair framing her lovely face in a halo of golden curls and waves; her eyes, more beautiful than all the gems in Erebor, were full of a sorrow so deep it broke his heart – she was too beautiful, too precious to be that sad. 

And all the while, she was talking to him, her voice barely a whisper, asking him to fight back, to make it through the night. Asking him not to leave her.

“Sig-rid,” he rasped, his tongue slow and clumsy as his chapped lips struggled to form her name. 

He heard her breathe his name in surprise, felt her hands wrap around his much larger one, as though she were afraid he would run away from her.

“Beautiful…so beautiful…An angel. Don’t…cry,” the words left his lips with difficulty, sounding muffled and confused even to his own ears. But he needed her to know – he needed her to know that he would not leave her, not if he had anything to do with it. “I will not…will not go. Sigrid – I…”

He slipped away again before he could finish, and his thoughts were lost once more.

When he came to next, he felt like he had been wandering lost for a hundred years. As he opened his eyes, squinting in the soft light, he realised that he was in a bed – he was laying on a mattress, with a pillow under his head and layers of blankets wrapped around him – and that he had no idea of where he was, or of how he had ended up there. He remembered the battle, running up to the citadel, and – 

Mahal, Sigrid!

He tried to sit up, only to fall back onto the mattress with a strangled cry as a searing pain shot all the way across his torso, from his right shoulder to his left hip.

Suddenly a hand was at his forehead, stroking his hair gently as he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the pain to subside.

“Hush, it’s alright, just take it easy. You are wounded, it will take time to heal.”

His eyes flew open as he heard that voice, relief flooding his heart – Sigrid.

How he had not seen her when he first woke up was a mystery to him, but she was there, sitting on a chair by his bed, holding one of his hands in hers while still stroking his hair with the other. She looked exhausted, he thought, her skin paler than usual, her cheeks drawn and her eyes circled by dark bruise-like shadows, but she looked fine otherwise, nothing but a few scratches marking her face and hands.

Memories suddenly flooded his mind, and he inhaled sharply, his eyes going wide. He remembered seeing the orc that had injured him fall, remembered seeing Sigrid standing there, a bloodied sword in her hand.

“You saved me,” he murmured, bewildered. “You killed that orc before it struck me down.”

She nodded, her grip on his hand tightening a fraction.

“I couldn’t let that creature kill you,” she breathed, so very quietly that Fíli’s ears had to strain to hear her. “I – when I saw you lying there, covered in blood – Valar, Fíli, there was so much blood – I thought I was too late. If it were not for Kíli and Tauriel, who found us and helped me to carry you here, I don’t know what would have happened.”

Kíli – so he was alright, too. What about the others? Thorin? The other dwarves? Sigrid’s father?

He asked Sigrid, anxious, and she told him what she knew – that his brother was perfectly fine, that Thorin had been found unconscious and covered in wounds, but that he was recovering, that the rest of the dwarves were rather battered, but all up and asking after him, and that her father had broken an arm and a few ribs in a nasty fall, but was refusing to rest and had already gone back to leading the men.

“Sigrid, the healers say it’s time to change the bandages again. D’you reckon he’ll wake soo – ”

Kíli, who had just then walked into the tent, stopped dead in his tracks, staring at him, Fíli thought, like he had seen a ghost. Then the younger dwarf let out a joyful cry and all but ran to his side, gripping Fíli’s other hand in a bone-crushing grip.

“Mahal, brother, you sure know how to give us a fright! Five days knocked out and burning hot like a kiln – this poor girl here was so worried about you she refused to leave at all during all this time!”

At that Fíli turned his head towards Sigrid, surprised: had she really not left his side for five days? She blushed under his gaze, but her eyes never left his, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. 

There was something straining to push out from his recollection of the hazy fever-induced dreams – a memory that he could not quite put his finger on, half-forgotten in a corner of his mind. Something important – 

Oh, Mahal, he wanted the ground to open right now and swallow him whole. 

The memory was confused, but he remembered seeing her sitting by his bedside, and thinking – telling her that she was beautiful as an angel in his delirium. He felt his face grow hot all the way up to his ears, and the way in which Sigrid bit her lip, her cheeks flushing a darker pink, told him she remembered that too. He had made a complete doh of himself, he knew. And yet there was something in the way she was looking at him – a softness in her eyes that had not been there before, and that made his heart thrum fast in his chest.

***

Fíli spent a month recovering in Dale, and by the time he was well enough to get on a horse and return to the mountain, he found that that was the last thing he wanted. So he volunteered to help the men with the reconstruction of the once glorious town, as several other dwarves and elves – including Tauriel and Kíli, who, he was sure, were far less interested in helping with the works than they were in spending time with each other – had done. Of course, Thorin almost had a fit when Fíli told him – according to many a witness, his yells could literally be heard echoing all over the halls of Erebor. Still, Fíli had stubbornly held his ground, yelling back at his uncle just as fiercely, and eventually Thorin had had no choice but to let him go, however grudgingly. 

In Dale there were never enough strong arms and capable hands, and the men seemed to accept his help gladly, soon recognising him as one of their own and praising his skill in working stone and metal. He finally felt like himself again, working the days away in the sun, helping the men put up walls and build roofs, or in the forge, pounding the metal and shaping tools, hinges, hooks, and any other trinket that was needed for building. And he got to see Sigrid every day, for even if now she was Lady of the Lake and Daughter of the Dragon-Slayer, she still tried to help in any way she could, bringing food and fresh water up to the men and running small errands all over the town.

More and more often, when she was too busy to pay any attention to him – sewing in the shade with other girls, gathering water from the well, playing with her sister, tending to the vegetable patches in the orchards that seemed to become greener every day under the dedicated care of the women and children – he found himself observing her, driven by an endless curiosity. Sometimes he would lose himself in the way the sunlight played with her hair or in the angle she threw her head back at when she laughed, and forget where he was for a few minutes, which often resulted in her noticing him staring. She never seemed to mind, though, for she always gave him a smile and a small wave whenever their eyes met. And, sometimes, he noticed her staring at him too. Her cheeks would blush in the prettiest way whenever he caught her, and she would hastily return to her task – though, he found, with a smile on her face.

He was working in the small forge they had set up in what used to be a blacksmith’s workshop before Smaug took hold of the Lonely Mountain, his right hand relentlessly bringing a hammer down on the piece of red-hot metal he held on an anvil with the tongs in his left hand. A blazing heat radiated from the furnace behind him, scalding the bare skin of his back; a human would not have fared well in the stifling room, but he felt at home, a smile playing on his lips as he worked the shapeless mass of iron into a pair of broad, elaborate hinges for the doors of the town’s new Hall.

He took the now flat piece of iron and plunged it in the barrel of dirty water next to him, a cloud of steam billowing upwards with a loud hiss as he did so. He was about to place it back into the furnace when he heard a soft knock at the door.

He turned, expecting to see his brother, or maybe one of the children who seemed so fascinated with his ability as a smith and often came to watch him work for a bit, and instead found Sigrid standing in the doorway, a covered basket in the crook of her arm.

“Um, hi,” she said softly, a shy smile on her lips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just – the men at the Hall said you hadn’t come out of the forge all day when I brought them lunch, so I thought you might be hungry. And it’s lovely outside today, so I thought I might try to drag you away from the furnaces for a while, if you care to join me.”

He was, indeed, hungry – unbelievably so, even though he had been too absorbed in his own work to even notice until that very moment. His stomach rumbled embarrassingly loudly, and the soft giggle that escaped her lips told him that Sigrid had heard it too.

“Ah, you are not disturbing me in the least, lass – I was about to take a break anyway,” he reassured her, even though he had not intended to take a break at all, for no matter how much he loved the work he was doing, the idea of spending some time with her was too alluring to refuse. He almost started making his way towards her when he suddenly realised that he had just spent hours working in the heat of the forge – which meant that he was not wearing a shirt, and that he was still hot and sweaty, his skin patched with red. “I’ll be with you in just a minute.”

He headed into the small room attached to the workshop, where he had been sleeping for the past months, and stood by the deep basin of clean water sculpted right into one of the stone walls. He cleaned himself up quickly, splashing water on his face, arms and chest and drying himself off with a towel he kept on a nearby shelf; then walked back into the forge and took his shirt from the hook he had hung it on that morning before he started work. He could feel Sigrid’s eyes on him as he put it on and laced it up, but when he turned around to face her she quickly averted her gaze, her cheeks tinged pink.

He would have given anything to know what thoughts were going through her head.

Without a word, he walked up to her and gently took the basket from her hands before offering her his arm, looking up at her with a smile on his face. He had never really paid any attention to it before, but the height difference between them was not as drastic as he would have thought: after all, he was quite tall for a dwarf – though not as tall as his brother was – and she seemed to be rather small by human standards, so the top of his head almost reached her chin. She did not hesitate, looping her arm through his, and they walked outside together, chatting amiably like two old friends, oblivious to the curious stares that the other inhabitants of Dale were giving them.

They ended up in the orchards, sitting on the ground in the thin shade of the newly growing plants, sharing the bread and apples Sigrid had produced from her basket and talking about anything that came into their heads. Fíli caught the opportunity to ask her questions on her childhood and her family, and in return he told her all she wanted to know about what it had been like to grow up in the Blue Mountains and on their adventure across Middle Earth to reach Erebor. He could have spent years like that, just sitting there with her as they simply enjoyed each other’s company. 

As they talked, he could not help thinking that she looked lovely in her light blue dress, her hair woven into a braid that ran across the top of her head like a crown and coiled at the nape of her neck in a loose knot. Among his people, women were just as strong and stout as men, with large hands, generous curves and impressive, braided beards, and though Sigrid did not fit into any of the beauty parameters that he had been taught to appreciate with her smooth skin, slender limbs and delicate features, he thought that she was more beautiful than any dwarrow woman could ever be. 

If he had to be honest, he had always thought that Kíli was the weird one: he had always been abnormally tall for a dwarf, his features too sharp and his beard not nearly as thick as it should have been – not to mention his choice of a bow as his weapon, or the fact that he had fallen head over heels in love with an elf. But he was now starting to realise that maybe he was not an ordinary dwarf either – for it was becoming more and more clear to him that he was slowly, inevitably falling in love with the human girl sitting in front of him.

Mahal, he was in trouble.

***

The summer season hit the mountains suddenly, bringing along weeks of dry, sunny weather and a thick blanket of heat that only seemed to dissipate at night, leaving the people of Dale some much needed relief. Fíli had spent the day helping putting up the rafters for three new houses, and the hours of hard labour in the unforgiving sun had left him sweaty and dehydrated, his arms, shoulders and back red and sore and definitely sunburnt. So when he was finally done, instead of going back to his small room in the workshop and sleep for two days straight as he had considered doing for the past few hours, he left the town and walked the mile along the side of the mountain that led to lakes.

The lakes were small, relatively shallow pools in the rocky ground supplied by natural springs of cool, crystal water situated in a secluded spot not too far from Dale. They were surrounded by pebbly shores and shielded by large cliff-like boulders, which made them the perfect place to hide at for a while and relax on days like that, when the heat was so intense it was almost unbearable, even for a dwarf.

He left his boots on the shore and jumped in the largest pool fully clothed, the cold water drenching his shirt and trousers and working miracles for his sore skin. He spent a liberal amount of time in the water, swimming the width of the pool several times and eventually just floating around on his back, enjoying the feeling of utter freedom as he just lay there, away from the hustle and bustle of the town.

He was almost considering dozing off for a little bit, when he heard a light chuckle somewhere to his right; he jumped at the sound, startled, which resulted in him going under. When he re-emerged a second later, coughing and spluttering, he saw Sigrid standing on the shore, a large basket of linens – laundry, he guessed – in her arms, her eyes dancing with amusement as she looked at him.

“Looks like you have discovered my favourite laundry spot,” she mused with an exaggerated sigh, hugging the huge basket to her chest as Fíli treaded to shore. “I’ll have to find a new one now.”

“Too many dwarves floating around this one for your taste?” he asked her jokingly, and she laughed softly, her nose crinkling up as she set the basket on the ground and sat down, drawing the skirt of her light summer dress around her legs. It was a gesture he had become very familiar with, since after that first day they spent together at the orchards, almost three months before, they had made a habit of having their lunch together every day, mostly ending up sitting on the ground in quiet spots where they could just talk and relax.

“Indeed, master dwarf,” she replied, taking her shoes off and slipping her feet in the water. “Valar, this feels good,” she sighed, closing her eyes for a moment as she dangled her feet back and forth in the pool. “I absolutely hate this horrible heat. I just cannot wait for it to finally be over.”

“Hear, hear,” Fíli muttered as he, too, sat down – though he remained in the water, wanting to prolong the blissful coolness for a little longer.

“Um, so, did you slip and fall in the water or something?” she asked after a few minutes of companionable silence, taking in Fíli’s appearance. “Or is it a dwarven custom to swim around fully clothed?”

He snorted at that, knowing that she was teasing him. They had gotten close during those past few months, and she now acted much more freely around him, laughing and joking with him like they had been friends for a lifetime.

“It might not be a dwarven custom, but in this heat, it feels wonderful,” he retorted, raising his arms to show his dripping sleeves. “Care to join me?”

He said that as a joke, expecting her to laugh at his silly question and shrug him off, so he was surprised when she cocked her head to the side, her teeth pulling at her lower lip as she seemed to seriously consider his offer.

“Will it not be cold in the water?” she asked, eyeing his soaked clothes a little sceptically. Fíli shrugged at that – it was a little cool, but definitely not so much that it was uncomfortable. He told her so, and she seemed to think about it for a moment longer before she untied her white apron and set it down on her linen basket, stood, and gingerly stepped further into the pool until the water reached her knees.

“It is rather cold,” she grimaced, looking down at her feet as the water soaked the hem of her dress, turning the fabric dark pink. And sudden Fíli was remembered of all the times when, as dwarflings, he and Kíli had gone swimming in a place not very different from the one they were at right now, and his little brother, too, always complained about the water being cold and thought of going back on his decision to get into the water. He smirked as an idea took form in his mind, and he quickly swam further out to the middle of the pool and then back to Sigrid, who was still standing there, looking like she was about to bolt back to shore.

He stood in front of her, still smirking, the water lapping up to his thighs, trying to keep himself from laughing at the idea of what he was about to do. 

“Fíli, why are you looking at me like – ”

Sigrid looked at him in puzzlement for a moment before realisation suddenly dawned on her face; she took a step back away from him, her eyes wide.

“Oh, no. Nonono, don’t you even think about that! I know that look – whenever one of my siblings gets that look, I end up in the water!”

His grin widened at that, and before she could move back another step he swiftly swept her up in his arms, ignoring her protests.

“Fíli!” she squealed, her arms wrapping around his neck as she tried to hold onto him so she would not fall into the pool. He walked a few steps until the water reached his waist, then just stood there for several seconds, unable to stop smiling. “Fíli – no. Don’t you dare!”

“Too late,” he said, cheerfully, before he all but threw her into the water.

She came back up soaked, half-laughing, half-yelling at him as she pushed a strand of her dripping hair away from her eyes.

“I’m going to kill you, dwarf!” she cried, though her smile made the threat meaningless.

“I’d like to see you try, human!” he challenged, and a moment later they were splashing each other as they swam around, laughing like children as they alternatively run away from and tried to catch each other.

An hour later they were sitting at the water’s edge, drying themselves off in the late afternoon sun, Sigrid doing her laundry while Fíli helped her, acting contrite to make up for throwing her in the water earlier. Not that she had minded – in fact, once they came out she had confessed that she had not had that much fun in years.

“You know, you might want to, um, straighten up a little,” Fíli informed her after a while, once the clean, wet linens were heaped back into the basket. “I – um, well, I don’t really know what your father would think if I walked you back home looking like that,” he added, a little embarrassed, as he gestured at her damp, rumpled dress and her hair, which had almost completely escaped her braid. “I would very much appreciate it if he didn’t try to kill me next time he met me in the street, you know? I wouldn’t want him to assume –”

“Oh,” she murmured, blue eyes wide as a soft blush spread across her cheeks. “Oh. You – um, you’re right.”

She put her apron back on, effectively hiding the worst of the creases in her dress, and then she proceeded to undo her braid, letting her hair down and trying to comb through it with her fingers.

He had never seen her with her hair down before. It was much longer than he had expected, falling to her waist in a thick waterfall of honey-coloured waves and loose curls that framed her face in the loveliest manner.

“Do you want help with your hair?” he asked, the words leaving his lips before he could stop them. He felt colour rise to his cheeks: among dwarves, braiding each other’s hair was considered a very intimate act – something that was only done within families or very close friends, or…or lovers.

He swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling nervous. Of course it would not have that kind of meaning with her, no matter how much he wanted it to. She could not possibly know what braiding meant to a dwarf, so he would not make too much of it. He would just do it as a friend – after all, he had seen girls braiding each other’s hair as they chatted together in town, so he supposed it was something that was acceptable for friends to do.

She looked at him in surprise, but after a moment she nodded, giving him a grateful smile and moving so she was sitting right in front of him.

Tentatively, his hands shaking, he reached out to run his fingers through her hair, gently working out the tangles. It was even softer than he thought it would be, the curls silky as they slipped through his fingers easily. He carefully divided her hair in sections and started his work, his fingers swift as they gently twisted her locks in an elaborate pattern. He did it the dwarven way, slowly creating two thick, loose reverse braids – one going from her right ear to her left, running parallel to her hairline before it went on to curve around the back of her head; the other starting at the crown of her head and curving clockwise around the first one. He was sure that no human would have seen anything strange in the style, but any dwarf would have immediately recognised its meaning.

Affection. Admiration. Promise.

He knew that, if Kíli ever saw that, he would never let him hear the end of it so long as he lived.

After a few minutes, he noticed that whenever his fingers brushed against her scalp or her neck as he worked, a small, almost imperceptible shiver would run through Sigrid’s body. He would almost have not noticed it if it were not for the way in which her skin trembled under his touch.

“Done,” he finally said with a small sigh, wishing he did not have to stop so soon. He watched as Sigrid’s hands went to her head, slowly feeling the braidwork with her fingertips. 

She turned towards him, her eyes wide and a smile lighting up her face.

“Fíli…this feels so intricate,” she breathed, tracing the pattern of the braids on her head once again. “I wish I had a mirror so I could see it. I’m sure it looks beautiful.”

He looked into her eyes, and he found that he could not look away, just like the night they had first spoken to each other, in Bard’s house, what felt like a lifetime away. And in that moment something inside him gave way, and he felt his fear melt like ice in the sun.

“Aye, it does,” he whispered, reaching up to tuck a loose curl away from her face, his fingertips brushing her cheek in the process. “Though nowhere near as beautiful as you.”  
For one interminable heartbeat he thought that she would pull away, that he had ruined everything. But then her eyes filled with an emotion so intense it took his breath away, and she tilted her head into his hand, her cheek resting in his palm.

They were so close he could feel her warm breath wash over his lips, see the tiny flecks of grey and gold in her irises.

“Fíli…”

She murmured his name so quietly he barely heard it – it sounded almost like a prayer, or a secret – and it pulled him in like a siren’s song, until the distance between them was but a hair’s breadth. 

He gave her time to pull away, time to push him from her if she wanted to. It would shatter him if she did, but he gave her time to do it anyway.

She did not. Instead she closed her eyes, surrendering to him.

His lips brushed hers in the softest of touches, but it was enough to send an electric shock traveling all the way down his spine, waking up every single nerve in his body. And when she responded to his kiss, her lips timidly brushing against his, he could almost hear his own blood singing in recognition.

He knew, then, that he would never let her go.

“I love you,” he murmured when they parted, resting his forehead against hers. “Mahal, Sigrid, I love you more than I thought I could ever love anyone.”

“I love you too, Fíli,” she whispered back without hesitation, pressing her lips to his again for a brief moment. “I have loved you for a long time.”

They took their time walking back to the town, wanting to make that moment last for as long as they could. Fíli carried Sigrid’s basket under one arm, his other hand holding hers, their fingers intertwined, the simple contact making his heart race uncontrollably in his chest. 

By the time they got to the front of Bard’s house, it was dusk. He reluctantly let go of Sigrid’s hand and handed her her laundry back, gently stroking her cheek and whispering goodnight to her before he left, feeling so light he thought he would fly.

The streets had been almost deserted as they walked back to the town together, and no one had spared them a glance as they passed, yet somehow the following morning all the people of Dale talked about was how the Prince of Erebor and the Lady of the Lake had been seen walking together, their clothes damp and in disarray, the Lady’s hair braided the dwarven way, their hands joined. And when he passed Bard in the street, the man glared at Fíli like he wanted to kill him in the slowest, most painful way possible.

Mahal, he was in serious trouble.

***

That morning, Fíli got up at dawn, trying not to think too much about what he was about to do. He bathed and re-braided his hair and beard, then dressed in his best clothes – a white linen shirt, dark blue trousers, an embroidered blue vest, leather boots and a wide leather belt with the buckle emblazoned with the emblem of Durin’s clan. They were sturdy, but obviously made of the finest materials – not excessively fancy, but bound to make a good impression nonetheless. And Mahal knew if he needed to make a good impression today of all days. 

As he set out for the citadel, he felt like his stomach was twisting itself into knots that got tighter and tighter with each step he took. People gave him curious stares as he passed, whispering to each other none too discreetly – without a doubt speculating on what exactly the heir of Durin was doing, finely dressed and freshly scrubbed, walking apace up to the citadel so early in the morning.

At the very top of the citadel was a stately mansion that had once belonged to some high-ranking nobleman and that, because of its sheltered position, had been barely touched by Smaug’s attack on the town. As the reconstruction began, the townspeople had insisted that, because of his new position as Lord of Dale, the house should go to Bard, and so after some patching-up the former bargeman had moved in with his children. 

As he walked up to the house, Fíli could not help but marvel at how the garden that surrounded it, which had once been barren and dry as a bone, was now bursting with colour and life: there were wide flowerbeds crowded with white and pink cosmos and purple agapanthuses, punctuated here and there by bright red poppies; a shaded corner housed several pastel-coloured hydrangeas that ranged from pale pink to powder blue, and climbing roses and sweet-scented honeysuckle had resiliently started to grow up the high, irregular stone walls that enclosed the place. 

He smiled as he spotted Sigrid kneeling on the ground, tending to one of the flowerbeds; there were smudges of dirt on her apron, and a few shorter strands of hair that had escaped the loose bun at the nape of her neck were falling in her eyes, the early autumn sunlight turning them the colour of molten honey. As though sensing that she was being observed, she turned around, and the smile that lit up her face when her eyes met his was enough to melt all of Fíli’s worry away.

“Fíli!” 

“Hello there, lass.”

He closed the distance between them in a few quick strides and held his hand out to help her up, his previous nervousness forgotten as her tiny hand slipped into his. It had become a familiar, easy gesture for them in the past weeks, and yet the contact still made his heart swell with joy.

Sigrid led him around the garden and through the back door to the roomy, sun-flooded kitchens – which alone were almost as big as her whole house in Esgaroth had been. 

“Would you like some tea?” she asked him as she removed her dirty gardening apron and washed her hands in a basin by the door. “Our cook has taught me how to make a lovely brew with some of the herbs I’ve been growing in the garden.”

“Tea sounds lovely, amrâlimê,” he replied, the Khuzdul endearment easily slipping past his lips. The way Sigrid smiled at him told him that she had recognised that particular word – after all, in the past month she had become quite familiar with a number of compliments, endearments and sweet nothings in his language.

He sat down at the kitchen table, observing her as she got busy making tea, and he gladly accepted the mug of honey-coloured brew that she offered him a minute later as she sat next to him. It really was delicious, he thought as he took a sip – sweet and refreshing.

“So, what brings you here so early?” she asked him, placing her mug on the table and eyeing his unusually tidy appearance. “Business with my father?”

“Aye, in a sense,” he answered, butterflies filling his stomach as he, too, put his cup down. “Although I wanted to talk to you first.”

He took her hand, and as she laced her fingers with his he wondered if he would ever find the words to ask her. Kíli had always been the talkative, eloquent one – the one who could always find the right thing to say, who could weave poetry and ballads out of thin air, who could charm a crowd with a few well-placed sentences. But Fíli, the most pragmatic and grounded of the two, had always had to struggle to find the words. He was the warrior, and his brother was the poet, and that had always been fine with him. But in that moment he wished he were more like Kíli – wished that he could know exactly what to say to Sigrid, how to ask her the question that he had been dying to ask her ever since he kissed her on the shore of the lake four weeks before. 

“I have a question for you,” he murmured, leaning closer to her so she could hear him. “And I need to know what your answer will be before I brave a meeting with your father.”

She nodded, and Fíli brought his hand up to cup the side of her face, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone. She knew perfectly well what the question was, Fíli could see it in her eyes. 

“Sigrid, I – ”

It was then that it sunk in: there was nothing really difficult in what he was about to do, for it was Sigrid sitting there with him – his Sigrid, whom he loved more than life itself. And it was as simple as that. 

So he took a deep breath and fell on one knee in front of her, holding her small hand in both of his.

“I am completely, utterly, irrevocably in love with you,” he murmured, eyes boring into hers, doing his best to keep his voice from shaking with emotion as the words spilled from his lips, and he knew they were more true than anything he had ever said in his life. “I have been ever since I first laid eyes on you in your house in Esgaroth, even if I did not know that it was love back then. You are the bravest, kindest, most beautiful woman I have ever met, and I – I want to spend the rest of my life with you, for I know you are everything I will ever want and need.”

“I have come here today to offer you everything I am, if you will want it – if you will want me, for that would make me the luckiest, happiest man to have ever walked this earth. So Sigrid, my Sigrid, will – will you marry me?”

A single tear escaped her lashes, slowly traveling down her cheek; her eyes were wide and bright, one of her hands pressed to her mouth, the other still held in both of Fíli’s. He waited with bated breath, every second stretching to eternity as he waited for an answer. His heart beat loudly in his chest, once, twice. Then – 

“Yes.”

He had imagined it. He must have imagined it – or had she actually - 

“Yes, yes, yes,” she said again, voice shaking with tears and joy as she reached out to caress his face. “Yes, I will marry you. I will marry you, Fíli, my love.”

He could not help the huge smile that broke across his face as her words sank in – she was going to marry him. Him. She could have had any man she wanted, and yet she had chosen him. 

He just could not stay still anymore. So he stood, grabbed Sigrid around the waist and spun her around, both of them laughing as he twirled her around the room. Never, in all his life, could he remember being that happy. And as she leaned down to press a kiss to his lips, he knew that no matter how much the idea scared him, he would walk straight into Bard’s office and ask – beg, if it was necessary – for Sigrid’s hand in marriage. 

So, once he had somewhat regained his composure, still grinning like a fool, he straightened his clothes up and took a deep breath, readying himself. “Wish me luck, lass,” he told Sigrid, taking her hands in his once more. “Now I have to go ask for your Da’s blessing.”

***

Up until that point, Fíli had thought his uncle to be the most stubborn, belligerent and proud man alive – and with reason, for among the notoriously hard-headed dwarves, he was the most hard-headed of all. Now, after a totally exhausting hour that had seen him using up every ounce of diplomacy, patience and tenacity in his body, he had found out that, when compared to Bard, Thorin Oakenshield was but a mild little lamb. 

Why he ever thought that Bard would be reasonable when it came to his daughter, he did not know.

They had forgone all pretenses of politeness long ago; both of them were practically yelling now, and Fíli was sure that the whole of Dale could hear them.

“My Sigrid is not a pawn that your king can use in one of his political schemes; he wanted an alliance between our races, and he got it – leave her out of it!”

“For the hundredth time – my uncle has nothing to do with this! I know that Sigrid is not a pawn – ”

“Then leave her be!”

“I cannot!”

“And why not? Surely there are many a dwarrow lady who would be more than happy to wed the Prince of Erebor; why my Sigrid? What purpose could she serve that one of your kind could not – ”

“It’s not about that! I – ”

“Then what is it about, lad? If it is not for politics or trade routes, why are you so set on taking my girl away from me?”

“Because I love her!”

Bard shut up at that, seemingly taken aback, and Fíli immediately jumped in at the chance, trying to make the man see reason.

“I love her,” he said again, his voice soft and sounding almost excessively quiet to his own ears after the loud tones of their argument. “I have loved her since the very beginning, even though I did not know that it was love back then. And I love her more with every day that passes.”

Bard gave him a weary look, then plopped back down into his chair, looking exhausted all of a sudden.

“You seem like a decent lad, Fíli,” he said, one of his hands coming up to his face to rub at his eyes tiredly. “But it’s my Sigrid we’re talking about – my little girl. It does not matter that you love her now – I loved her first, I loved her before she was even born. And it’s my duty, as her father, to make sure that she’s happy. I cannot just hand her over to you like she’s some sort of object.”

“I know,” Fíli replied immediately, feeling a surge of respect for the stubborn man in front of him. “I would never, ever think of her in that way, let me assure you. Among my kin, women are treated like the most precious of treasures – they are rare and cherished, and deserve our utmost respect and devotion. I wouldn’t even be here talking to you if I wasn’t sure that Sigrid returns my feelings.”

Bard heaved a great sigh, shaking his head at the young dwarf in front of him. 

“I should have known, shouldn’t I? I bet she’s sitting by the door right now, listening to every word we say.”

Fíli couldn’t help smiling at that.

“Aye, that seems very much like her.”

“You really love her, don’t you, lad?”

The young dwarf nodded at that, his expression serious once more.

“With all my heart.”

“What about your uncle? What will he think of his nephew – his heir – marrying a human girl? If my Sigrid is to follow you to live under the Mountain once the time came for you to sit on the throne, what will her life be like among your kin?” 

Oh, Thorin would not be happy, of that Fíli was sure – just like he had not been happy when he had put his foot down to stay in Dale to help the men rebuild the town. But he did not care. If his uncle could not accept his decision to marry Sigrid – to marry the girl that he knew was the one and only for him, to finally be happy – then he could just go to hell and find someone else to succeed him to the throne of Erebor. He was ready to give it all away in a heartbeat – his title, his kingdom, all the incommensurable riches under the mountain – if it meant that he could live the rest of his life with his Sigrid by his side. They could move into one of the houses they were rebuilding in the citadel, so she could be close to her father and siblings, and he would work as a blacksmith, just like he did before he left Ered Luin, perfecting the craft he loved to support his family…

It almost surprised him, how desperately he wanted all that – so much that he wondered whether being Thorin’s heir actually suited him at all. He was not brought up a prince, and he had none of the charisma or natural leadership skills that his uncle possessed; he loved the open air, and working his fingers to the bone in the forge, and lending his strength to the teams of builders when he felt like spending the day outside, so much so that the thought of having to move back under the mountain, whether in a year or in twenty, filled him with dread. It was then that it hit him – in the months that he had spent in Dale, he had slowly become part of the town, more and more each day, to the point he almost felt less like a dwarf and more like a human, if that were even possible. And he was happy – happier than he could ever remember being. 

Maybe he really was just as odd as Kíli, after all.

“If my uncle cannot come to terms with this, then it will be his problem,” he said quietly, folding his hands in his lap and giving Bard an earnest look. He had a profound respect for the man – he was a brave warrior, a wise leader, and a loving father to his children – and he knew that, if he wanted to earn that same respect for himself, he needed to be completely honest with him. “I am free to decide of my life, and I have made my choice – I think I made it long ago, when I first met your daughter. No matter what, she will always come first.”

He hesitated for a moment before he continued, knowing that it was the right thing to do, but struggling to find the words.

“And – I have changed since the battle, Bard. I am not the same man that I was before we arrived in Esgaroth last winter. The things I want now, they are…different from what they used to be. So different that I am starting to doubt whether I really want to take my uncle’s place when the time is right. I am happy here in Dale – and Sigrid would be happy here, too, because then she would not have to leave you.”

He looked down at his hands for a moment, and when he looked back up again he found Bard studying him as though he was seeing him for the first time, a mixture of surprise and admiration on his hard features.

“You really mean it when you say you would leave everything you know behind for my daughter’s happiness, eh, lad?”

“I do,” he confirmed, and he knew then that no matter what it took, making Sigrid happy was all he wanted.

Bard sighed at that, pushing his hair away from his face and smiling tiredly.

“I suppose there is nothing more I can do, then,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “You seem like a good man; I know you will take care of her and respect her. If you love her, and she you, I have nothing more to object – you have my permission and my blessing, lad.”

***  
They were wed on a clear day only a few weeks later, when the first frost had just begun creeping on the rooftops of Dale. The town square was crowded in spite of the cold, with humans and dwarves alike turning up to witness the union of the heir of Durin and the Lady of the Lake, all of them sporting heavy cloaks, their cheeks still pink from the revels that had echoed throughout the Mountain and town alike since the previous night, and that would likely go on for several days without interruption after the ceremony.

Fíli stood next to his brother in his best finery as he waited, hands clasped behind his back to keep himself from tearing at his ornately braided beard and hair in sheer nerves, because what if she changed her mind and won’t show, Kíli?

A murmur rippled through the crowd, and Fíli’s breath caught short as he turned and saw her, radiant in her dress, with her hair braided the dwarven way and his ring glinting in the sunlight at her finger as she walked towards him, a beaming Tilda holding up the modest train of her skirts.

Mahal, she truly was the most extraordinary creature he had ever laid eyes upon.


End file.
